


respiraro, si te videro

by NotPersephone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hannibal Rising References, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 21:30:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11449422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone
Summary: The danger was far from gone and the search was still on, yet she slept soundly that night, with Hannibal sleeping next to her.It wasn’t until their second week in Argentina that she began waking up again.





	respiraro, si te videro

The room is quiet, the only sounds still present are the even breaths of the man lying next to her and the distant ticking of an old-fashioned clock in the next room. Even the city is silent at this time of night. Bedelia feels as though suspended in a different world, the only thing keeping her grounded is the warm radiating from Hannibal’s body. A familiar heat remaining comforting after all the years apart. Bedelia curiously examines the sensation, wandering towards the warmth and away from the stillness of the room. Yet it does not help her to drift back to sleep. Her eyes spring open at last, breaking the illusion of sleep. She waits for them adjust to the dark and gets up, looking for a distraction before her mind starts to reflect on her predicament. Doctors are the worst patients, she knows it well, but she silences her reasoning, secretly longing for the state of oblivion that comes with sleeping pills.

The feeling of another world persists as she stands by the window and gazes at the street in front of the house. The vibrant purple blossoms of jacaranda trees are visible even in the dark, turning the urban landscape into a tranquil dream. She has never considered visiting, let alone living in South America and now she finds herself in Buenos Aires. The new surroundings can be easily blamed for her lack of sleep, yet she knows it is not true.

 

The sleepless nights started when she returned from Florence. She tried to attribute it to the sudden changes that occurred in her life; the thrill of the adventure she unexpectedly missed, nothing more. The comfort of her old home did not soothe her restless mind. Unwanted thoughts began to surface, but there was no use to dwell on the past, she told herself, refusing to face them. Isn’t it what she always told _him_? She hushed the reasoning with chemicals, not the wisest of choices, but the pills put her to sleep. They were dreamless nights, leaving her with a sensation of a hungover in the morning, but at least she slept. At least she didn’t contemplate.

The night she heard the news about his escape she did not sleep at all. Sitting in her office, unsure whether to get a drink or a gun and settling for neither, listening for any sounds coming from the outside. It wasn’t until the morning, when a cautious knock alerted her exhausted mind. She found him on her back door, half conscious and bleeding. And alone. Whether he finally crushed his obsession or whether the sea did it for him was unclear. She did not care and neither did he. Looking at her lovingly, as she tended to his wounds, there was mix of regret and hope in his gaze.

The danger was far from gone and the search was still on, yet she slept soundly that night, with Hannibal sleeping next to her.

It wasn’t until their second week in Argentina that she began waking up again.

 

It is the stillness that tells her that he is awake. She turns to meet his eyes, ever alert and sharp, even in the dark of the night.

“I am sorry if I woke you,” she says.

“Your absence woke me. Is everything all right?” he asks attentively.

“Yes, of course. My sleep cycle needs to adjust to the new place, that is all,” she tries to sound convincing, but she barely believes it herself and doubts he will accept that to be true. Silence falls again as his eyes survey her closely, but he makes no comments.

“Can you bring you anything?”

“No, thank you,” she is relieved that he does not press on the topic.

“A glass of water perhaps,” yet he is determined to be of assistance.

“Yes,” she concedes and Hannibal leaves the bedroom, returning shortly with a glass of water. Bedelia accepts the glass gratefully, the cold liquid soothing her dry throat and clearing her mind if only for a brief moment. He sits next to her, his fingers gently caressing her curling hair and they both watch as the final vestige of night turns into the first trace of dawn.

 

The bathroom is as lavish as the one in Florence, but much brighter. All white and cream surfaces, natural light sipping through the window overlooking the garden. Hannibal was proud to show her the space, knowing she’ll adore it. And she does, the lightness makes her feel calm.

Now the window is closed, night falls again, the only illumination comes from a few candles flickering on the window seal. Steam rises from the surface of the bath, infusing the air with lavender. Bedelia inhales deeply, her head tucked against Hannibal’s neck, as he lets the sponge trail down her breast.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks as the sponge moves to her other breast.

“Yes,” she lets out a long sigh. Hannibal suggested a bath might help her unwind. Bedelia suggested that he joined her. A perfect balance they both now savour.

He abandons the sponge to trace the outline of her breasts with his fingers. Bedelia closes her eyes, enjoying the caress.

“It might help you sleep,” he murmurs, his lips brushing over her earlobe. She opens her eyes, but does not respond.

“Hot baths always helped my sister,” he adds casually and Bedelia tenses immediately. This is all too familiar, but she remains silent.

“You are not my sister, Bedelia,” he says sensing her apprehension. She turns her head; her daring eyes meeting his, a silent question passes between them, _who am I then?_

“You are _you_ ,” he responds simply and his lips move to her neck, pressing a deep kiss to the base of her throat. His hand travels slowly from her breast, down her taut stomach and disappears between her legs.

She closes her eyes and bites her lower lip, her fingers tight in his hair. It feels so good, _he_ feels so good. Warmth and pleasure begin to flood her, washing away all the entanglements in her mind.

Except for one, the one that keeps her up for another night.

 

Abandoning her life in Baltimore, once more, came with an ease that should had scared her, but it did not. There were no regrets, she did not fear leaving her past. She wanted to lose herself again, wanted the enchanting thrill of life behind the veil. She needed to see him, needed to see _herself_.

The sky outside is dusky amaranthine and the wind presses against the glass. The window begins to resemble a cell of her mind; keeping things out as she looks at them from a detached distance. But just like the breeze of air slipping through the tiniest of openings in the frame, persistent thoughts tiptoe pass her guard to resurface at the calmest of moments, betraying her.

Returning to her past is what she is afraid of. How long before a new obsession takes over his mind and endangers their new life? She couldn’t bear to watch him destroy himself again. She couldn’t face rebuilding her life anew. Her heart overpowers her mind and she does not dare to voice her fears.

 

“Would like to talk about it?” he asks cautiously, as she leaves her side of the bed in the middle of the night again.

“No,” she avoids his gaze and takes her usual spot by the window.

“Would you like me to tell you something?” he presses on and she knows he will not fall back to sleep without her.

“Tell me what? A story?” she counters, expecting another reference to his sister who he must’ve told countless bedtime stories.

“Whatever you want. Whatever will help you.”

“All right. Tell me something you haven’t told anyone before,” she challenges him.

He nods with all seriousness and gets lost in thought. Bedelia is sure he is looking for a way to turn and dismiss her request. Finally, he seems to have made up his mind and reaches his hand out, inviting her to join him in bed. She follows with hesitation, sitting on the edge and looking at him expectantly.

“Nightmares shadowed my nights since I was a young boy.” He had mentioned that before, but she says nothing, listening and observing.

“There were fragmented pictures then, echoes of the events that had occured. Too terrifying for me to face, so I repressed them the best a boy could, but it did not stop my mind from remembering. I used to scream my sister’s name in my sleep. Or so I was told. I did not speak at all.”

He pauses at the painful memories.

“It was during my stay at the orphanage. An orphanage that used to be my house. It was so painful to see my home violated, everything confiscated and abused. The only good memories I had left, stolen.”

The confession startles her. Bedelia moves closer to see him better, looking for any signs of deceit, but she finds none. She watches him, reading the story he told on his face. His eyes remain calm and vigilant as always, but she puts her hand on his chest, just above his heart and feels it beating rapidly. This is not what she has anticipated. She lays down, resting her head in the spot where her hand had been, listening to the truth of his heart. His arm circles around her and she closes her eyes.

“I have never considered returning home before. I left only pain there,” he continues,” But now I would love to share it with you. You would be a countess. There is no one more fitting than you.”

He tells her about the castle and grounds, an enchanted place that time has forgotten. His words bring images of the two of them riding horses through the woods, their very own fairy-tale. “I would like that,” she says quietly. His voice and heartbeat become more distant as she slowly drifts off to sleep, her mind at ease and her heart full of anticipation.

Hannibal senses her relaxing in his arms, her breathing steady as rest finds her. He kisses her hairline and whispers, _I love you_. He has never told that to anyone before.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a quote by Cicero, "I shall breathe again when I see you.”  
> I don't think they need to say "I love you" to each other, as their bond is so deep, but it felt like a fitting ending. I will leave it up to you to decide whether she heard him.  
> Writing post season 3 fics is very therapeutic. This is my show and my barricade from any potential season 4 (which I hope will never see the light of day).  
> Find me on tumblr if you have any prompts or questions. Feedback is love ♥


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